Love Song
by OriginalPippie
Summary: The Monkees: When the band sign up for a band contest, Mike makes the mistake by saying they will have all new songs for the contest. He then has to face writer's block amongst other problems.
1. They tell me to breathe easy for a while

(The breathing gets harder; even I know that)

It was very quiet around the beach house that mid-January afternoon. Since it was winter, it was far too cold to hang out on the beach. Nothing good was happening in town during this time of the day unless one wanted to spend time talking to the beautiful blonde in charge of the Laundromat. And today wasn't the guys' normal laundry day and they were all out of excuses to hang around the dryers. They also didn't need any groceries for the week so there was no point in going down to see the breathtaking brunette who worked at the check out at the grocery store. And the other buxom blonde working at the pharmacy had caught on a long time ago that they weren't really getting medication for Peter, and Peter was far too shy to let her know that he ha a big crush on her. As well the nearby bakery was closed for remodeling so they couldn't go check out the ravishing red-head who worked there. It also seemed as though all their friends were busy that entire day, so spending any time with them was also out. And since nothing good was on television there was nothing at all for them to do inside except wallow in a sea of boredom.

Peter had left the house after a while to go on a walk, saying that he didn't mind the cold weather. (In fact, he loved it.) He walked around for a while; stopping here and there to talk to certain people he had run into. One time when he had stopped to talk to someone, a flyer on a nearby telephone pole caught his attention. As soon as his friend walked away, Peter snatched up the flyer and read it to himself. Then with the flyer in his hand he ran excitedly all the way back to the house. He burst in through the front door, stopping only to catch his breath. Needless to say, because of this the other three guys had put their attention onto him right away. Before he had fully caught his breath, Peter waved the flyer around in the air for the three of them to see.

"Guys look what I found!"

"Hey, wow, Pete! A piece of paper! Must be your lucky day!" Micky teased

Mike rolled his eyes before walking over to Peter "What's got you so excited? Let me see that."

Peter handed him the flyer and then Mike read it to himself. Mike looked at Peter and then at the other two guys with the biggest smile they had ever seen on his face. (Which in Mike's case, still wasn't that big of a smile.)

"Hey listen to this! It's a flyer advertising a band contest that's coming up in a few weeks! First prize is 400 dollars! Must have all original material… yadda yadda… Sign up by such-n-such date by this time… Guys we haven't worked in a while; this could be a great break for us especially if we win."

By this point, Micky and Davy had come over to the two of them. Micky patted Peter on the back and smiled broadly.

"Hey way to go on finding this flyer, Big Peter!"

Peter grinned. "Best piece of paper I've found in a while, right Micky?"

"I was kidding before but I guess this really _is _your lucky day, Pete!"

"No." Davy shook his head "It's all of our lucky day."

"That's right. We better get to work on some new tunes for this contest. The ones we've got are great and all, but everyone 'round here has already heard them all."

"Hey good idea, Michael." Peter said while finally taking off his coat. "Let's get a good practice in right now."

"The sooner and more often we practice, the better we'll be by the time this contest rolls around." Mike finished before walking over to the bandstand.

Early the next morning Mike went down to the club where the contest was to be held at and he signed up The Monkees. While he was there he talked a little bit with the man who was in charge of the contest. He had told him all about The Monkees, the music that they did, and that they'd have all new songs for the band contest. The last bit just fell out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it. That was a move that he regretted right away. Because that now meant that they _had _to write new songs.

On his way home he thought about all kinds of possible songs he could write for the band. But out of the ideas he got he wasn't sure which ones that he wanted to write, if any of them. As soon as he got home he sat down in a chair on the bandstand, and thought some more about those song ideas. When he picked up his acoustic guitar he began to finger pick at the strings. But as he sat there picking at the guitar strings, none of the song ideas in his head had come out into song form. Or any kind of form for that matter.

After a little bit he just sat there holding onto his guitar and staring off into space. He didn't even notice when the other three guys had entered the room. Seeing that he was zoned out, Micky went up to where Mike was. He stood right by Mike's side, bent down and got as close as he could to his face.

"What'chu thinking about, Mike?!"

Mike jumped so high that he nearly crashed through the roof. He looked at Micky with a frown before shoving him away.

"Get outta here with that mouth, man!"

Micky started laughing "What's the matter, Mike? Jumpy much?"

Mike rolled his eyes "Whatever, Mick." He strummed his guitar a couple times

"So what's bugging you, Michael?" Peter asked, going up to stand by Mike's other side

"Nothing's bugging me." He strummed again

"Are ye sure?" Davy asked "Cause you certainly look like something's bugging you."

"Nothing's bugging me, Davy. Really." One more strum. "I'm just tryin' to think of songs." A couple more strums

Micky went behind his drums and picked up his drumsticks as he sat down. "What songs would those be?"

"Exactly." Mike sighed and then scratched his head "When I went down to sign us up for the band contest, I opened my fool mouth and told the guy that we were going to have all new songs for the contest. So now, ever since I left the place, I have been trying to come up with new songs. But I've got nothing."

"Oh drag." Peter had picked up his bass and began tuning it. "Well we could all help write new material. How many songs do you think we'll need by the contest?"

"At least a full set."

"Why can't we jus' use some of the songs we've already got?" Davy asked, joining them on the bandstand.

"Because, Davy, this guy told me he already knows all of the songs we've played before. And I told him we'd have _all _new songs. He said he was lookin' forward to it." Mike let out a heavy sigh before setting his guitar down. "We're sunk."

"Don't worry so much." Micky tapped out a small riff on his snare, finishing on a cymbal. "So we write new songs for the contest. We've got a couple weeks to work on them then the third week can be spent on fine-tuning. If they don't turn out the way they should before the contest, no one will know. We could work on them some more afterwards and re-introduce them to the public later on. We've done that sort of thing before with other songs."

Mike sat up straighter "My motor-mouth friend, you are right!" He stood up and grabbed his other guitar, plugging it in. "Let's work on some new pretty tunes!"

That was all the encouragement it took for the other three guys to join Mike in playing a song. As the four of them played, Mike's mind began to wander off onto some of the song ideas he had been thinking about before. What he didn't know was he wasn't the only one who was trying to come up with song ideas while they were playing. After playing a few more songs together they stepped away from the bandstand and then gathered around the couch. It was there where they decided to put their four heads together to bounce ideas off of one another.

A bunch of their ideas didn't seem all that great compared to how they had seemed in their heads. Some ideas were just too atrocious to even write down in order to throw them into a burn pile. Then there were a select few that seemed good enough to turn into actual songs. They must have sat there for two, maybe three hours discussing song ideas but eventually they had come to a point where they could actually start working on a few of them.

Once they had begun to put these few songs down on paper, they were pretty happy with what they had so far. But part way through writing them they all realized at the same time that they were missing something within the new batch of songs. The new songs themselves were just fine but the guys thought that perhaps they were one song short. Mike sat back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment as he tried to think some more. He held his breath for a few seconds before letting it all out slowly. Then after scratching his head, he sat up with an idea.

"I know what we need." He said "What we need is one really great song. Something really upbeat and danceable. Something really catchy, easy to remember. A real show stopper."

"A show stopper?"

"Yeah… You know, usually the audience will remember one or two songs from the entire set the band plays. The show stopper will be the one really great song that everyone will take home with them at the end of the night."

"Hey I know what Mike's saying!" Micky said, smiling "We need a song that will get stuck in people's heads; one that they'll wake up humming the next morning."

"_That's _exactly what I'm talking about, Mick!"

"Ok sounds great. But 'ow are we going t' write a song like tha'?"

Peter shrugged a little "Couldn't be too hard, Davy. The Beatles do it all the time."

"But Petah we're not the bloody Beatles."

"No." Micky grinned slyly "We're The Monkees. And with this show stopper song we're going to write, we'll be right up there with The Beatles."

Mike grinned a little, nearly laughing over Micky's remark. "I don't know about that. But what we write will be good; I know that much."

"What I want to know now is, what type of song should it be and which one of us is going to actually write it?" Peter asked

They looked at Peter momentarily before growing silent. The silence, however, was very short-lived.

"Well Micky's songs are kind of weird." Davy said before Micky shot him a look.

"And Pete's songs always turn out too folkey-sounding." Micky looked at Peter with a touch of apology "Not that there's anything wrong with folk music."

"Davy only knows how to sing songs that are written for him. So his writing skills won't be much use to us." Said Peter before receiving a glare from Davy.

"Well then I suppose that leaves me to write the song. Only fitting since it was my idea." Mike spoke up, looking at the other three. "Now I just need something to write about. Any suggestions?"

"Why don't you write a love song? Y'know something like Eight Days a Week or I Feel Fine or whatever. But, you know, more your style."

Mike shook his head. "I don't know, Mick. A love song? We've already got a buncha love songs. Why do we need another one?"

"You know, Michael. He doesn't have a bad idea there. After all, what's a better subject to write a song about than love?" Peter encouraged.

Davy shrugged his shoulders. "What else would ye write about? Picking up the daily mail? Some guy mowing the lawn on a Sunday aftahnoon?"

"I dunno… I'm not really feeling another love song right now."

Micky lightly nudged Mike in the side. "C'mon Mike. What could we lose with a love song? It could be just the thing that puts us over the top at the contest."

Mike looked at the three of them in a few silent seconds. Despite everything they were saying to sell him on the idea, he just didn't want to write another love song. He had no idea what other type of song that he'd write. And there wasn't anything inside of him right then that screamed to him that this was the type of song he should write. Not only that, but he really didn't want to write one just because they were all three saying to him that he should. He would write a song all right, but not a love song.


	2. I'm not gonna write you a love song

(Cause you asked for it.)

There Mike sat at the writing desk. It seemed as though he had not moved for hours since he had first sat down. But it was probably more like twenty minutes. He had a pencil in his hand but had neglected to find a piece of paper to write on. However, as soon as he realized that he didn't have any paper he realized that it probably would not have made any difference to him. A large amount of writer's block had shown up and it had spent the majority of the twenty minutes eating away at Mike's brain. It had started out in the back of his brain, taking little nibbles out of it. Then soon it had begun to tunnel its way towards the front, just happily chomping away at what was left of his creativity.

Mike stared at the imaginary blank piece of paper before him and tapped the pencil on top of the desk. This was the worst case of writer's block he had ever experienced in his entire young life. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair. He cracked his knuckles over his neck before looking around the room a bit. While leaning back further in the chair he had not noticed the fact that one of the legs was about to break free from the chair. The leg snapped, causing the chair to give out beneath Mike. He tumbled backwards a little as he landed hard on the floor. Luckily for him, none of the other guys were around to witness it.

He stood up and dusted himself off. After moving the newly broken chair aside he then began to walk around the lower level of the house. As he walked he realized that it wasn't the writer's block that was the only thing that was bothering him. It was also the fact that he had been asked to write a love song. This, he knew, was the type of song that he couldn't just pull out of thin air. He would have to be very inspired by something specifically in order for him to be able to write a love song. Plus the fact that the other guys were so strongly encouraging him to write one was putting him off the process even more.

Right then he had never wished more that he had kept his mouth shut about something. At the time when he had said they were going to have all new songs for the band contest, he didn't really think it was a very big deal. Of course at the time he had no idea that he would now be faced with a bunch of writer's block. He also didn't think that he would have his friends trying to get him to write about something that he didn't want to write about at this given time.

_Why should I write a love song? Why can't any of them write one? Maybe we could just do a cover version of someone else's love song. Would that work? Wait. Didn't the guy say we needed all original material? Ah crap. Of all the times for me to get damn writer's block. How in the hell am I supposed to get through this?_

All of this was going through his mind as he paced the floor. He had no idea why he had so much refusal towards this one specific task at hand. In fact this was the first time he could recall ever refusing to write a certain song.

He took a deep breath and held the air in his cheeks for a moment before letting it out. Then after a little bit of standing in one spot, not really thinking about anything, Mike decided to actually do something. He knew he had to get his mind off of trying to write a song for the contest, or else his writer's block was going to drive him crazy.

Without thinking anything, or realizing it, Mike found himself outside just walking around. At first he just pointed himself in a random direction and just started walking. Things outside seemed to be pretty quiet and uneventful. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets to keep them warm and began whistling a tune to himself. As he walked he didn't pay attention to any one else around him, keeping mainly to himself. People had passed him by, often showing him their friendly smiling faces. He'd give them a nod of the head, sometimes adding a "hello" and maybe a small smile if it was someone he knew. The entire time that he walked around through town his mind was at ease. For once that day he felt relaxed and he wasn't thinking about anything that had to do with any songs or the band contest.

There was a fog that started out pretty light but as Mike walked it started becoming thicker and thicker. However, it wasn't so thick that he couldn't see where he was heading. He stopped at a corner and looked up across the street towards the crosswalk sign. But with the fog it was a little hard for him to see the light change. The light changed and then Mike began to cross. There was a car coming towards his direction, and it was clear that because of the fog, the driver couldn't see Mike very well. The car came to a quick stop but not on time to avoid hitting him. Mike had no time to react to the car and he was knocked to the ground.

Mike had not been knocked out when he hit the ground but he still couldn't quite fathom what had happened to him. All he knew was he had the wind knocked out of him and he was in pain. Someone told him not to try to get up. But even if he wanted to get up the pain in his leg was preventing him from doing so. The next thing that he knew, he was in the back on an ambulance and being taken to the hospital. He was told that he wasn't injured too badly but his injuries weren't worrying him. All he could think about right then, besides the pain in his leg, was the song that he was supposed to write for the contest. He had no idea why this was bothering him so much. No song that he had to write ever gave him so much problems as this song was giving him.

The guy in the ambulance was talking to Mike about something or other. But he wasn't paying attention to what was being said. The task of writing a song was driving him crazy. And his leg hurt like hell. However, sometimes he forgot about the pain because of the song, and vice versa.

Mike lay with his leg propped up in the hospital bed. He had been examined and x-rayed all over after being hit by the car. Luckily for him the only major injury he had sustained was a broken leg. That meant there was no real reason for him to have to stay in the hospital. But he was lying in his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, just waiting for the other guys to show up and take him home. While laying there Mike's song muse began tapping him on the shoulder. He started to listen to his muse until it told him to do the one thing he didn't want to do; the thing that the other guys had strongly suggested him to write about. His muse must have been playing a joke on him because it was telling him to write a love song.

He tried everything he could think of to ignore his muse, hoping that it would go away. But his muse kept right on nagging and nagging at him. Finally he decided to give in to his muse's naggings and agreed to write a love song. However, he smirked to himself over the concept that he had come up with right then that this was not going to be a typical love song, especially from him. He knew that as soon as he got home, he was going to find some paper and write down the ideas that he was already getting. All he had to do now was to wait for his friends to show up. And he waited there in the hospital bed with a grin upon his face. This was going to be something that no one was expecting to come from him right then.

A nurse had come into the room once or twice but she seemed way too busy to bother with such things as answering Mike's questions, or even to take care of him properly. In fact, Mike wasn't even sure if she had noticed him being in the room. One time he had made an attempt at getting her attention, trying hard to call her by the right name. But apparently the name he had come up with wasn't the right one for her. Needless to say, she ignored him altogether. Mike decided that, upon her final exit from the room, she really wasn't all that important to him and his needs. He didn't realize it at the time but this was actually going to provide him with good material for his new song.

_Now what was her name again?_

He thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the nurse just outside his room.

_Mary? Carrie? Sherry? Terry? Oh man maybe I'm way off. Ah well. Not like knowing her name would make a difference in either of our lives._

Mike sat up and stretched his back. It had begun to feel a little stiff from lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed. And he had not been in the bed for very long. Once again the nurse came into the room to make a brief appearance before Mike. She quickly said something about his friends being there to take him home, and then she left the room before Mike had a chance to blink let alone thank her. But he figured that she wouldn't have paid any attention to him any way. Right after the very busy and not-so-caring nurse whatshername left, Micky Davy and Peter entered the room. Mike was so relieved to see them that he almost forgot about his broken leg and jumped out of the bed to greet them. _Almost._

They helped him out of bed and to get ready to leave. As they did this, he began telling them what had happened to him and about his experience during his brief hospital stay. They listened to him while thinking how odd his behavior was; he actually seemed happy to have his leg broken. Mike was checked out of the hospital and helped out to the car. As he was comfortably seated (as comfortable as he could be with a broken leg) in the car, he was asked how he was feeling. He simply looked at them with a grin.

"Great." He said "I'm starting to get over my writer's block."

"Well I suppose that's one good thing to come out of this." Micky replied with a laugh

While the care drove away from the hospital, Mike leaned back a little in his seat. He gazed out the window and grinned softly to himself. He couldn't wait to get home, find some paper and get to work on his brand new song.


	3. Blank stares at blank pages

(You mean well, but you make this hard on me)

Mike opened his eyes and looked at the next bed over. He frowned slightly when he didn't see Micky sleeping away like usual. But at the same time he was a little glad to be waking up alone for a change. However, he also felt a little odd waking up to see the empty bed on the other side of the room and seeing how it was neatly made. The area of the floor surrounding the bed was also picked up instead of the usual mess that Micky would have left behind. Sharing a room with Davy certainly was very different, but he wasn't sure if it was better or not. Peter had moved upstairs to share the room with Micky while Mike had been moved downstairs to bunk with Davy. This move was a temporary one, but very necessary. It was done so Mike, with his broken leg, wouldn't have to struggle with going up and down the stairs while he was healing.

After having shared a room with Micky for so long, Mike wasn't used to getting up after his roommate. He also wasn't used to not having to straighten the room up after getting out of bed. But he didn't want to get used to this change since he knew it wasn't going to last.

Sitting up, he carefully moved his leg over the edge of the bed. Then, reaching next to him, he grabbed the crutches that were propped up against the wall and used them to help himself up into standing position. While still trying to get used to walking with the crutches, Mike slowly made his way out of the bedroom. He got no further than the living room area when he seemed to be bum-rushed by three people. These three people approached him with all the intentions of helping him, but help wasn't what they wound up providing.

"Alright!" Mike exclaimed, getting them to move away from him. "I think I can handle getting over to the kitchen table by myself. I'm not completely helpless after all."

"Sorry Mike."

"We were only trying to help."

"Of course. We'll leave you alone."

"Thank you." Mike replied "That's all I ask right now. If I really need help with something then I'll let you know."

Mike managed to hobble along on his crutches over to the kitchen table. He then pulled a chair out some and slowly sat down, handing off his crutches to the nearest person. At first he felt a little awkward how he had to sit at the table but he made his adjustments in order to make himself comfortable. Once finally comfortable he picked up the newspaper and began reading it. After a little while he decided that it was time for him to fix himself some breakfast.

"Where are my crutches?" He asked

"What do you need them for?" Asked Micky with a jumpy tone to his voice

"I want to get some breakfast."

"Don't worry about that, Michael." Said Peter "I'll make you breakfast. What do you want?"

"You don't have to do that, Peter. I can do it myself."

"No I insist on making you breakfast. You just sit there and rest."

"But I don't want to sit here and rest."

"Please don't argue over this, Michael. I want to do this for you. Besides, I made breakfast for everyone else today. Now what would you like to eat?"

"Oh. Well I guess I'll just have some bacon and eggs."

"Alright. I'll whip you up some in just a jiffy."

A little reluctantly, Mike sat in his chair at the table and waited as Peter cooked his breakfast. What he didn't realize then was that this wasn't the last of his friends insisting upon helping him that day whether he needed it or not. Every time he needed to get up for whatever reason, he was told to sit down or someone was right there with his crutches, ready to assist him with them. The first couple times this occurred didn't really bother him. The next couple times it began to get on his nerves. Then the next time he was fed up with them because their help was causing him to feel like an invalid. This, he was not going to put up with for much longer.

After part of the day had gone by, his muse had returned to bug him until he agreed to start writing a song. He hobbled over to the writing desk and sat down. Upon sitting down he discovered that he didn't have a pen to write with. As he was going to get back up to get a pen, not to his surprise, one of the other guys was very quick to tell him to sit back down while they got a pen for him. Then he made another discovery that he didn't have any paper. Again he was made to stay seated as someone else got him some paper. He let out a small frustrated sigh after thanking them quietly for the help.

Now it was time for him to begin to write. He turned his attention to the blank piece of paper on the writing desk in front of him. Next he cracked his knuckles and his neck. Then he adjusted and re-adjusted himself in his seat to make sure he was good and comfortable. Lastly he picked up the pen and put it to the paper.

_Ok words. Time for you to come out of the pen and go onto the paper._

Mike sat there staring at the blank paper and then at the pen in his hand. He looked at the pen trying to mentally get it to work. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing came out of the pen and onto the paper.

_Why isn't this working? This damn thing must be defective._

A little longer Mike sat there trying to write but with no such luck. The only thing that he wound up putting onto the paper before him was a couple little doodles, his name written a few times in a variety of ways and a ring from the glass he was drinking out of. He could not stand the fact that his muse had pestered him to write up until the moment he actually had a pen in hand and paper before him. This was some sick joke his muse was playing on him. The worst part was, his muse kept insisting that he write a love song. As much as he tried to, he just could not ignore that part.

While picking up his glass he was reminded by the fact that it was empty. As soon as he started to reach for his crutches, he was stopped by one of the other guys.

"Nuh uh! Don't get up. What do you need?"

Mike sighed "I was going to get some more water, Micky."

"I can get that for you. You just stay there."

"Fine. Whatever."

Micky took Mike's glass to the kitchen to fill it up with water. Not two seconds after Micky had sat the water glass down before Mike, Peter came over to him with a small pillow in his hands.

"Here Michael. You really should have your leg propped up while you're sitting there."

Before Mike could say anything in protest, Peter was carefully helping him place his broken leg onto the pillow. Mike never minded a little help here and there before. But now that he had his broken leg he was receiving more help that he ever wanted or needed. It was all help that he did not even ask for. And all this help was only making his writer's block worse. He stared at the piece of paper again and then looked at the other three guys in the room. By this point his frustration level had become pretty high. But he had done real well at keeping it mainly on the inside.

He was being driven crazy by all the help, kindness and the extra large amount of writer's block he was experiencing. Everything he was going through right then while trying to write a new song could not have come at a worse time. Normally he wouldn't let something like a broken leg stop him from writing. And it wouldn't have bothered him if his friends weren't trying to help him so much. At first he was really glad to hear about a band contest like this one they had signed up for. But now he was dreading it because of the task that was still before him. Every time when he _wanted _to write a song, he had a very easy time with it. He'd often be able to whip out two or three songs in one sitting on his best days. But now that he _had _to write a song, not one single word was capable of coming out of his head. If he never knew before what having writer's block was like, he certainly knew about it now.

With his pen in his hand he began to scribble on the paper. He knew that as he scribbled all he was doing was wasting ink and paper but he kept doing it because he felt that it was the only thing he could do right then. It was as though his brain was shot. The writer's block had been the one to do the shooting. And to make matters worse, there was a wave of insanity forming just behind the writer's block. Right at this moment he was almost ready to welcome the insanity.

After sitting there for a little while trying not to pay too much attention to the writer's block and the forming insanity, Mike slowly began to see a glimmer of hope through it all. His muse was no longer just pestering him to write a song; it was starting to actually provide him with some inspiration. He almost felt himself smiling as he held the pen in his hand and on top of the clean sheet of paper. There was actually a tune beginning to form in his head as well as some words. This was the moment that he had been waiting for ever since he realized that he needed to write a song. Mike was actually going to start writing.

He felt a small burst of energy as he sat there. This energy was in his brain, pushing and fighting the writer's block out of his head. The inspiration was working hard against the writer's block. Mike felt happier and happier as he knew that the inspiration was working. Although it was working, he still had not written a single word. He looked at the paper and was actually surprised that the paper was still blank. For a second he also looked at his pen and shook it a little in order to loosen up the ink inside of it. But he knew that this wasn't the problem. The problem was, he just wasn't writing anything. He couldn't understand why, but it seemed as though the more he wanted to write as he sat there, the more he was unable to do it.

Mike leaned back in his chair and let out an elongated sigh. It suddenly occurred to him that everything was now oddly quiet around him. He took a good look around the room and saw that he was alone. He also noticed that he needed to refill his glass. The moment that he started to get up was also the moment when the other three guys had decided to enter the room. They were just on time to stop him and they made him sit back down. This caused him to want to throw his crutches at them. His frustration level had finally reached its breaking point. Instead of sitting like he was kindly instructed to do, Mike grabbed his crutches and stood up in a huff.

"That's it!" He exclaimed, catching them off guard. "Enough already! You guys have been treating me like I am helpless! I have a broken leg; I'm not dying. I can get up to get a glass of water, I can cook my own breakfast, I don't want a pillow and I can do anything else to take care of myself! I know you guys are only trying to help and I'd appreciate it more if y'all didn't try to help me so damn much. Now," He picked up his paper and pen. "If you need me I'll be in the bathroom writing. I'm afraid that it's the only place around here where I can get any good thinking done."

Without waiting for reply or any kind of reaction al all, Mike crossed the room on his crutches and went into the bathroom. Once inside he closed and locked the door behind him. Now with the door closed he took a deep breath, letting it all out slowly. For the first time that day he felt relaxed and that he could actually get some work done. He just hoped that it would be worth it all.


	4. I'll walk the seven seas when I believe

(That there's a reason to write you a love song, today.)

There he sat on the bathroom floor. He had his crutches carelessly lying on the floor near him. The bathroom was a bit small and uncomfortable, but that was the least of Mike's concerns right then. In his hand he had his pen, a small pile of papers and a magazine he had found to write on. He had been sitting there for a while, writing away like it was going out of style. This had become the most productive moment since he started trying to write a song. He couldn't believe, and had to laugh a little to himself, that he didn't start to write so well until he had gone into the bathroom.

The words poured out of him like buckets of rain water. Soon he had enough for a whole song plus a few additional songs. He read his first song and then began rewriting it and rearranging parts within it just to make sure that it was absolutely perfect. And just for fun he wrote down the lyrics of some of his favorite songs which included "Blue Jay Way" by The Beatles. He then read his first song again and then once more to make sure everything was just the way it should be. Once he was absolutely satisfied he held the finished song in his hand and grinned to himself. All he needed now was to get his guitar and start working on the music for the song.

After sitting on the bathroom floor for a while it was difficult for him to get up. But instead of getting up all the way, he just sat up enough to be able to open the door.

"Hey could one of you guys bring me my acoustic?" He called out the door

Without hesitation one of the guys brought him acoustic guitar in to him. Then, after closing the door, Mike began strumming on his guitar. At first he started playing little bits of songs that they have already played before. Then he started playing parts of songs that were written by other bands. Mike shook his head and then mentally scolded himself for goofing around. That was when he actually started working on a tune for the new song.

Mike quickly found himself in a good zone on his guitar. He was feeling really pleased about the songs he was working on, especially one in particular. It was the one that he was going to present to the guys specifically with the contest in mind. This, he felt, was the song that was going to be what he called the "show stopper". The other songs that he was working on, he thought he might present to the guys at a different time. He knew that those other songs could wait a little while longer to give him time to fine tune them. But the one that he decided that he was going to was for the contest, needed to be ready now. So because of this, he was placing most of his focus on that song.

He played the song a few times straight through while singing the lyrics he wrote. He couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he played the song because of how well it had turned out. After he finished playing he sat his guitar down beside him and smiled full of satisfaction. He then cracked his knuckles on the back of his neck and stretched his back a little as he sat up straighter. With little effort he reached over and grabbed his crutches and pulled himself up into standing position. Then with his papers in his hand he left the bathroom and joined the other three guys in the living room area.

"What are you smiling about?" Micky asked, when he saw Mike

Mike went over to the bandstand and pulled over a stool to sit on.

"If one of you guys could get me my guitar from the bathroom, I'll show you what I'm smiling about."

He sat down and lay his crutches on the bandstand next to him. Right away his guitar was brought over to him and he prepared to play one of the songs he had just written. He cleared his throat and strummed his guitar once before quickly stopping to look at them.

"Now before I play this I'd like to tell you that I actually wrote a few songs while I was in there. But right now I'm only going to play you one."

Mike strummed on his guitar a couple times before he started playing the opener to the song. Right away he had caught the guys' interest with what he was playing. And then he began to sing.

"Mary, Mary where you going to? Mary, Mary can I go too? This one thing I will vow ya, I'd rather die than to live without ya."

He glanced up at the three of them to see their reactions. What he first saw on their faces wasn't what he expected to see. They appeared almost confused but then Mike realized that they were paying close attention to the lyrics in an analytical manner.

"Mary, Mary tell me truly, what did I do to make you leave me? Whatever it was I didn't mean to. You know I never would try and hurt ya."

Again he glanced up at them. But this time they were all beginning to smile. This made him feel good so he kept playing the song.

"What more, Mary, can I do to prove my love is truly yours? I've done more now than a clear thinkin' man would do."

By the time he reached the middle of the song Mike was glad to know that the other guys seemed to be really into it. And because of this he wanted to continue playing it for them. This was already promise that he had written a hit song for the band.

"Mary, Mary it's not over. Where you go, I will follow. Til I win your love again and walk beside you, but until then. Mary, Mary where you going to?"

As he finished the song, Mike watched the three of them, feeling proud of his work. He was glad to see the great amount of interest in their smiles up until the very final note of the song. Right after he played the final note he lay his guitar across his lap and looked at them.

"Well?" He asked

"That was great!" Peter replied

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

"No! It was groovy. Really it was." Said Micky

"Yeah really. It sounds like a great song for us." Added Davy

"Yeah I can just hear Micky singing it. Sounds perfect for his voice."

"You think so, Pete?"

"Well," Mike said "I did kind of write it with the idea that Micky could sing it."

When Mike said that, everything seemed to click into place. Micky went behind his drums, Peter grabbed his bass and Davy picked up a pair of maracas. Taking their cue, Mike sat his acoustic guitar down and grabbed his electric six string and made sure it was plugged in. Then after Micky looked over the lyric sheet a little bit, the four of them started to play the song together. It was a bit rough at first and they had made a few false starts but after a few times they had begun to play the song pretty well. As they played it the all knew that this truly was the perfect song for them.

Finally after playing a couple good times in a row they officially had a complete song. Feeling very satisfied with how it all turned out, they all left the bandstand and went over to the living room area to sit for a while. They then not only talked about how well the song had turned out, but also about the contest that they were preparing for. They all agreed that his song which Mike had titled "Mary, Mary" was the one that was going to win the contest for them. Part way through their conversation, Micky couldn't help but laugh. This, of course, drew their attention onto him.

"What's so funny, Mick?" Mike asked

"I was just thinking about the lyrics of the new song."

"What about them?"

"They just seem really… stalkerish. Don't you think?"

Davy and Peter looked puzzled before they looked at each other. Then after a couple seconds they began to laugh. Mike only sat there and nodded his head with a little smirk.

"Well am I right or what?" Micky asked with a laugh

"I suppose you could say that. I was actually wondering if any of you would pick up on that."

A short bout of laughter wafted over them for a brief moment. After the small amount of laughter was done, Mike brought up to them the other songs he had written and he told them about how after the contest he would like to work on them. Along with "Mary, Mary" Mike had written a song he had titled "Pleasant Valley Sunday" and another song called "Stepping Stone". He had played and sang a couple snippets of those songs to them as well. And not to his surprise, the other three guys agreed that those two songs, along with "Mary, Mary" would make excellent additions to their reputuar.

By the time the contest rolled around, The Monkees were very excited and nervousness was very minimal. With a set of all new songs, including the one that Mike had struggled to write, they all knew that they had the contest in the bag. All they had to do was to wait for other bands to play before they could unleash their new material to the crowd. The moment that the band stepped onto the stage the audience knew that they were all in for quite the treat.

The Monkees began their set and the crowd got out of their chairs right away. No one even seemed to take notice or care that Mike had to sit down the entire time that he played due to his broken leg. But broken leg or no broken leg didn't matter at all since it didn't affect his playing. It seemed like during every song they played everyone was on their feet dancing. The people also cheered in between songs.

Finally the moment of truth had arrived. The Monkees were about to unveil their final song of the set; their show stopper. This was the moment that they had been waiting for ever since Mike had presented the idea of having a show stopper song to them. The very first notes of "Mary, Mary" were played and at first there was a stunned silence. Although everyone was silent, their faces were filled with bright smiles. However, it wasn't long before everyone started to dance. Some people had also picked up on the words in some parts and began to sing along. This caused Mike to feel extremely proud of his song writing skills. It didn't appear as though any one wanted the song to end. But once the song did come to an end everybody cheered. The people seemed to agree that the entire set was great, but the final song turned out to be the icing on the cake.

After the contest, The Monkees spent time outside the club, packing up the car. It was such a clear, nice night that they didn't feel any rush to get home. The excitement from the great set that they played was still washing over them and yet they were all peacefully calm right then. People began leaving the club and walked past them and their car. Smiles moved onto the guys' faces as they heard some of their songs from earlier in the night passing through the lips of the people going by them. One girl came out of the club by herself and she had a big smile on her face. She walked over to their car and looked at all four of them directly.

"You guys were great. Loved the new material." She said brightly before walking away.

And with that statement The Monkees were ready to go home happy. They patted Mike on the back and smiled, causing him to smile as well. They just had one of their best gigs in a while and it was all because of a simple suggestion to write a love song.


End file.
